Downton Poetry
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Begins with conflicts from Series Five. This includes short poetry in the first-person point of view, offering insight from individual characters whose hardships matter greatly to the plot. Seventh chapter includes heavy thoughts of Matthew, Carson, and Sybil, and covers Series Two through Five.
1. Mary, Cora, Anna

**_Mary on her advancements with Tony_**

For all this turning and trembling in my bed,

I cannot think what good I've brought

To my son. How dare I, so full of my own wants,

Put the name "Crawley" to shame yet again?

Surely I should have remembered Pamuk;

Though a decade has transpired, and Matthew has died -

Perhaps it was destiny for my foolishness to recur.

Grieved am I, for Anna's sake -

She treats me far better than I've deserved.

I've asked her twice to keep my secrets,

And still - after years - she proves trustworthy

To me. But I wonder how she bears my wrongs

When my sin with Tony is, for Anna, righteous

Gain for her and that gracious man Bates.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Cora on the terrifying fight in her room<em>**

After all he and I have endured in our lives -

Two children's deaths, and poor Matthew's parting -

I come to wonder whether we were meant to be

Together. Oh how dreadful that sounds! to regard

Our marriage with ill thought, and yet

Robert would certainly agree right now that I

Have chosen "That Man," and have left him eternally.

To whom can I go? What can I bear to do?

My husband thinks I've dishonoured us, yet

This is not true. I was trapped in that room

When my friend the historian confronted me there,

Wanting me for his own whilst scorning Robert.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Anna on her husband and on her suffering<em>**

He strokes my cheek, so swift are his movements

Toward me - and I stutter, my face streaming

With embarrassment. He asks me sweetly

Why I am tense and troubled.

"Nothing," I tell him, averting my guilty eyes

From his purely concerned countenance.

I wait for a moment, and he - in love -

Welcomes me into his arms, not asking

Whether I want to weep in his warm

Embrace. Could it be that I've betrayed him?

After all we've been through together, he simply smiles -

How I admire such unconditional love, for it helps

In times of hardship. Certainly this is one,

Since the death of one cruel man has left

A stain upon many, casting its gloom with untempered

Maliciousness. All we want, John and I,

Is to form and raise a happy family;

But even such a simple wish as this

Seems absurd at such a tumultuous time.


	2. Tom, Edith, Mr Drewe

_**Tom on leaving Downton**_

What if I stay? What will become of me

And my life, if I do go to America?

My child deserves more, of course,

But would I be giving her less

Upon taking her away from her

Family, the only people who can care for her

Far better than I or anyone else?

Perhaps Sarah Bunting was right:

Perhaps I really am being drawn away

From all which I had once regarded

To be important. And then, I wonder

Whether my darling wife's death was not

Meant to be, and that maybe we'd have lived

Peacefully in a cottage, just Sybbie and us,

In a happy environment but nevertheless productive.

Because I feel unproductive; I feel something missing...

Someone. And it's Sybil, because

She inspired my beliefs: my crazy declaration

That I would marry above me - far, far above.

And that life could be lived contrarily to that

Which these aristocrats have - for so long -

Known to be normal and great, and so true.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Edith on her daughter's forthcoming move to Downton<strong>_

The more I consider that unorthodox sight

Of my illegitimate child next to Mary's son

And Sybil's daughter, how frightful I find

The life that I can claim. Though I wish it were

But a fake life, one from which I could escape

Instantly and proclaim, "I'm here, not there

In that darkness called misery." Oh how it grieves me

That I could never attain such happiness as Mary

And dear, deceased Matthew...though at least

He felt for me. All I get from my sister

Are remarks about how wretched I have it

In this life. And Marigold, my true sole treasure,

Shall reside in the abbey, a grand place for lords

And ladies to dine. But who is she, to share

In such luxuries as earls and countesses?

Wait! I have blighted her, with my naïve

Ways, and have destroyed my only chance

To make my life something out of a fairy-tale.

Michael is dead, and Marigold is alive;

Quite a fix I'm in, to even attempt to supply

My daughter with a good childhood

And myself with good spirits.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Mr Drewe on the trouble with his wife<strong>_

I'm caught in the simultaneous cursing and praising

Of my actions toward Edith and Marigold and Margie.

Why I'd agreed to take the child into my home

Whilst knowing quite well that Edith's wish

Was much more than one of detached concern.

But my poor, grieving wife has to suffer!

How could I have placed a woman of shame

Above mine, whose virtue is precious

To me? How can I, at the verge of heartbreak,

Allow this woman of the abbey her wants

To have the child my Margie loves?

A dream - no, a nightmare - is this my present life:

Two women to please, and yet only one can

End up happy. It shouldn't be mine,

How hurtful though it sounds. But I

Made the mistake of letting Edith win

Such lesser distance from her child than was before.

From Switzerland to England, my! what have I done?


	3. Mary, Cora, John Bates

**_Mary on Charles Blake and Tony Gillingham_**

The passion of his kiss still confuses my lips

As I sit here in my room wondering and wandering

Away in contemplation. I always thought

How happy he and I could be together -

And perhaps he, too, dares to share the silly

Little notion that I do: that he will not leave,

And that he will come rushing back to me

Like a child to his dear father when that man

In the most respected livery meets him

At the door. Back from the war, yes, precisely

What I'll deem the feeling when Charles returns...

Only, that is, if my instincts to believe our kiss

That night at the cinema was more than just

A kiss. How cruel it was! for him to have shown

Tony in such a way that Charles and I

Are far more than he'd thought, and that

Miss Mabel could rest assured that "Lady Mary

Will never again sleep or walk with Lord Gillingham."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Cora on Edith and Marigold<em>**

How it hurts to imagine

My poor, dear daughter

In tears over Marigold

And the child's father Gregson.

What agony she suffers

In the wake of Michael's death

And in the midst of her sisters'

Children! I cannot know

What I'd have done

If Edith had admitted her act

Long before I learnt it;

So smooth is the landscape

Of my family's privileged life,

And yet so horrid is it

Simultaneously. A life of lies,

Months of uncertainties,

Days of tears. It all blights

The best of families,

Who would never have thought

Something so golden and pure

Could turn to ashes in time.

* * *

><p><strong><em>John Bates on Anna<em>**

An innocent life is lying in a cell

Beseeching God for an answer.

Her call is bold, but her voice is so delicate -

And I am the one to blame for her state

Of dreadful misery. O why must this happen?

Can we not be happy, together, and proud

Of the life we've lived as man and wife?

Surely a future with children

And a cottage full of love

Is what my dear Anna truly deserves -

Not a damned set of chains

Clasped round her small wrists

And the cruel, callous air

Behind wretched bars

That I cannot break.


	4. Mary, Mrs Hughes, Matthew

**_Lady Mary on Tony's entrance into her bedroom_**

His words are pinpricks of hypnotic delight

So artfully crafted through his phrases and manners -

I try to refuse, to whisk away his foolish wishes

But suddenly I find that I, too, am vulnerable.

He, in his dinner jacket; I, in my nightclothes:

It hardly seems right after such a short time

Since the death of my husband. But wait!

Could it be that I've come to full circle

And finally, perhaps, I can sing the same song

I'd grown so accustomed to hearing?

That song was my golden-era, my race, my storm:

The only time when I could control my paces

And fight my own battles. Sure, he might try

To persuade me into making wrong choices

But now, I must savour his eyes and good graces

That compel me to him - wait, what was that?

My darling George! oh where is he?

The hypnosis is put to an end, and I

Sprint across the room and out the door

To find my son, to preserve the only

Treasure that remains from that very same past

That I most ironically seek to forget...

Or perhaps not to _forget,_ but rather,

To set aside. I have other wants now.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Mrs. Hughes on Mr. Carson's proposal<em>**

He asked the big question. I knew not how

I'd answer him - merely because it was Charles

Of all grand people, wondering whether I

Wanted to unite with him once and for all!

What shock! and what joy pass through my limbs;

Old I am now, and yet he still sees reason

To invest in a cottage, in a future, in me.

Heaven knows how much time we have,

But one thing is sure: at least my good friend -

No, _husband-to-be,_ will be with me for all

The rest of my days in this curious life

Filled with curious people and times and surprises.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Matthew on the pressure he receives upon Reggie Swire's letter<em>**

I cannot know where my loyalties lie.

Could they possibly rest with Mary at one time,

And with Lavinia shortly after? But maybe

My wish to be fair and impartial has brought

This quarrelling, this discord, between my wife

And I. Oh how I hate it, the sound

Of my dear Mary sighing with utter

Disappointment at my 'changed tune',

She calls it. And surely, if we

Cannot see eye-to-eye, then perhaps

There was a foul mistake at the altar -

But no! it would be foolish for me to think

That after all we've discovered about

One another, something fundamental

Is absent from us. No, definitely not;

I will not resign from my position as heir

Or my duty as cousin, or my privilege

As husband. To my absolute dismay,

I fear this conflict within me

Shall not commence to cease,

Or cease to commence its bitter, bitter

Possession of my heart's poor cry:

It wants to do Mary and the family good,

But for some reason, I cannot try. Presently.


	5. Rose, Isobel, Violet

_**Rose on Susan Flintshire**_

Why Mummy seeks to destroy me,

I cannot know.

Why against Atticus she turns me,

I refuse to imagine.

What grief and anguish come from this:

A mother dissatisfied with her daughter's wish

To finally tie the knot, and be

What Mummy never got to see

From marriage. Oh, foul! How can

My Atticus ever forgive me

For accusing him of the whole setup

From which brought doubt abundantly?

Though perhaps I'll never lose my mother

(Half my blood from hers), I can

Attest to the fact that she's not me,

And never shall I submit to be

A cruel impediment to my future child's happiness.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Isobel on her refusal<strong>_

I refused Lord Merton's proposal today,

And strange how the effects of it are to me.

I thought the decision was right, and it is -

But my tears make it impossible to see

The way out of a time so lonesome and broken.

I attribute some of my sadness to Matthew,

For - without him - I yearned for companionship

With Dickey. Though, too, my heart recalls

The letters from that man's two boys, callous

And repelling. So at the close of this long day,

I rejoice in the family that welcomes and loves me:

Dear Mary, sweet Edith, kind Cora, faithful Tom;

Honourable Robert, devout Carson, precious George;

Charming Sybbie, lively Rose, and - of course - she

Who comforts in the strangest way, and succeeds to be

My favourite companion...Violet.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Violet on Prince Kuragin<strong>_

To hear after decades that the man I once loved

Continues to love me, and wants to act on it -

Never ceases to amaze me. Truly, I am astonished

By his unfailing heart...unfailing for me, of all

The people. Not even could he love his Princess,

And she - a beauty - so much more than I.

It saddens me, just as it lets

The hopefulness I once had in that Prince

Revive itself with such dignity, as if

Robert and Rosamund were never to have

Been born. "No," I say countless times,

"Be gone, horrid thoughts that could take me away

From the man I married, from the life I lived..."

And yet there is wonder in my childish eyes

Whether the man I saw, so aged and much wiser,

Could have designed with me a wondrous future.


	6. Robert, Matthew, Thomas

_**Robert on Edith's circumstances: Series Five**_

My daughter confessed her sins to me today.

What I should do, I cannot say -

But what I can do, I shall embrace.

Comfort and assurance are what I

Must impart to my second child

Who has suffered a terrible loss.

But also, too, she has gained

The privilege of being a mother

To such a darling child...my granddaughter.

How it all transpired whilst I knew

Nothing... I shall not wonder;

Such is beyond me now.

What matter are Edith, my daughter,

And Marigold, my new grandchild

Whose soft, rosy cheeks

And bright, happy smile

Encourage me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Matthew on George upon birth: Series Three<strong>_

His gentle fingers

touch

my hand.

So precious

and tiny

he is in my arms.

To think this child

a real son of mine,

the firstborn to whom

my wife has given

birth

amazes me.

"Duty"

we call it

to have children;

but I find

that something far, far

greater

prevails in the midst

of obligation.

That word is "privilege",

emanating promise

and treasures

and challenges;

but, nevertheless,

we are happy

with what God

has given

to us -

and for me

that gift

is Mary, and George,

and all the hope

in the world

that

we will continue

to dwell among

one another.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thomas on Lady Sybil's death: Series Three<strong>_

I grieve the loss of her.

She who perished above

This room in which I dwell.

So horrid was the news

Carson gave us this night,

And how it has struck me...

Listen to me! to think

That for once in my life

I consider someone

Far above me in rank.

The late Sybil Crawley,

Too kind and too privileged -

And yet she regarded

Me...to be of value,

To have worth in this world.

What is gone is finished;

But her kindness is not

Yet gone. No, how can

Sybil's imprint on me

Go away? I will not

Let such occur - not ever.

She married from my lot

A lower-class chauffeur;

Not having cared about

Anything but love... And

Still she died far too young,

Left a husband and child...

And here I sit, downstairs.


	7. Matthew, Carson, Sybil

**_Matthew on himself after Sybil's death: Series Three_**

Last night was the night

During which I

Lost all innocence,

Crumbled in thin air,

Had hope and withdrew

All of it. I know

How displaced was I

And how dreadfully naïve;

But it has transpired

In this way.

"Why not her?" I asked God

Whilst Tom ran upstairs

Gleefully as a new father does.

Of course I was foolish,

Greedy, and thirsty

For any sign that

My wife would soon bear

_Our_ child (perhaps and heir) -

But behold! I asked

On that awful night,

"Why her?", referring

To my sister-in-law.

She died, and Mary lives.

Perspectives

Changed as did events,

Albeit so harshly as they hit.

I am but a measly

Crumb in this world,

Torn from what once was

An entire masterpiece,

Stirred and baked with pride

And love - and here was I,

This deathly eve, watching

A woman in jealousy

Because she had something

My own did not; well,

I was right: indeed, she did.

A frightening

Merciless

Death.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Carson on Mary's finish with Tony: Series Five<em>**

A person can be thankful for a number of things;

But for Mary's final words with Tony, I confess:

It is a relief, a blessing, a promise; and for

The first of these, she is free and safe now from all harm

That could have plagued her body and soul. For the second,

I know that no other young woman so beautiful

Could have had the strength and intelligence to leave him,

That man who cared only for himself. But he is gone,

And I know that this means Lady Mary will succeed

The events that troubled her this past year, and will find

Yet better fortunes upon which to plant her life with

Dear Master George. She owns the honourable estate,

And with it she shall endure challenges - but I think

They will be healthful ones, full of opportunities

To venture into meaningful projects, to see how

Wide the world truly is. Because when _he_ died, she broke;

When _he_ died, she stopped. When _he_ left her, she fell upon

Her knees and wept uncontrollably in our midsts. Oh!

How dreadful it was to see her in pain; which is why

I rejoice in this new chapter that has blossomed for

Lady Mary Crawley, the daughter I never had

But simultaneously _did_ have. And now, since she

Can walk on her own (but still always with her family

And with me) to discover hobbies, cherish her son,

Collect knowledge of this estate she must run. Also

I pray that she shall meet someone of higher respect

Than that Lord Gillingham who took her and mistreated

Her broken heart; I hope…that the next young man she meets

Will have the courage to accept her existing son,

Her welcoming family, and her intimidating

Title - that this reverent man acknowledges her to

Be someone of substance, one who values tradition.

Then - and only then - shall I rest happily enough

To let her go finally, albeit it will be

Sad; but, then, God knows how much longer I have on this

Earth, breathing in the industrial and natural

Air that she - and I do hope I am right - will breathe

For many, many more years to come. She will make me proud.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Sybil on her life: Series Two<em>**

Papa nor Mama dreamt that I

Would ask for a different life.

I grieve their loss only for a minute,

But then realise the opportunities

That I could share with Tom -

And how many will there be!

As a child, I once thought

My life would be that of a tale

Of a princess whose limits

Were to a house in which

She had to slave for hours on end,

Doing "servants' work" and such.

Little did I know that now

My preferred occupation _is_ of that nature:

Working as a nurse is my passion -

Wait. No, _helping_ others is, I am certain.

I receive pleasure from ensuring

That my friends, family, acquaintances

Are well and happy and pleased to be

Revived from whatever illness

Came upon them. How could Papa

Or Mama refuse to let me do _that?_

**To Be Continued**


End file.
